


shuffle-ball-step

by perrysian



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Dancing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-01
Updated: 2013-04-01
Packaged: 2017-12-07 04:15:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/744127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perrysian/pseuds/perrysian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enjolras needs to learn to dance. To his surprise, Grantaire offers to teach him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	shuffle-ball-step

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hawberries](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hawberries/gifts).



> For Phee on tumblr, who wanted some dancer!R. Unbeta'd.

Enjolras is fuming, though Grantaire would be hard-pressed to find a time in recent weeks when Enjolras wasn’t fuming over some injustice or governmental action or mayonnaise on his sandwich. He really hates mayonnaise.

He’s in that state of pacing and stopping to vibrate in place and pacing again, which means he wants to talk about it, but doesn’t want to bring it up because he thinks it’s either a stupid reason to be upset or embarrassing. Either way, Grantaire lets him stew a little while longer so he can finish his chapter.

He sets down the book and turns to Enjolras, face serious, hands clasped together, prepared to listen, like a good boyfriend should. “Yes, dear?”

“My parents.”

Grantaire waits, but there’s nothing else.

“Yes. Your parents.”

He waits.

“What about them?”

“They’re having a party.”

Grantaire nods. Enjolras’ parents are known for their get-togethers, much to Enjolras’ disgust.

“They often do.”

“I’m required to go to this one.”

“Oh.”

“Yes.”

“And?”

“And there’s going to be dancing. Ballroom dancing.”

“Come out with the rest of it.”

“I’m supposed to dance. With people. Women.”

“Are they trying to find you a wife again?”

“No. At least I don’t think so, but I don’t know how to dance.”

“No. No, you don’t.” They don’t talk about jazz night at the Corinthe.

“They hired a tutor. Some former ballroom champion or something.”

And there it is, the reason he’s so upset. Enjolras had long resigned himself to watch his parents sling their wealth around, and occasionally rope him into appearance, but when they directed that wealth at him for purposes other than school or his activism, it drove him insane.

“Well, that’s stupid.”

“Thank you!”

“Considering I could just teach you myself.”

“What.”

“I could teach you to dance.”

“You… you’re a dance teacher?”

“Not professionally or anything, but I volunteer down at the community center and help old people tango. There’s a children’s course of ballet they give for free, so I do that.”

The face Enjolras makes is the one he wears when he’s surprised and not sure if he likes it or not.

“You. You’ll teach me to ballroom dance.”

“Unless you prefer the champion…”

“No! No. You- you’re good. Fine. Good.”

“Good.”

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

“Okay.”

*

“You have no sense of rhythm.”

“Just teach me.”

“I can’t teach rhythm. If you don’t have it, you don’t have it. Like some people are just tone-deaf. You’re rhythm-less.”

“Shut up.”

“It’s quite sad, you’re so pretty.”

“Shut up.”

*

“Okay, and your hand goes here, and step…”

“Like this.”

“Little more to the left. Sorry, my left, your right.”

“There?”

“Yes, perfect. And sway…”

*

“One-two-three-four, one-two-three-four.”

“Why are you counting out loud?”

“Um.”

“You didn’t know you were, did you.”

“Um.”

“You’re so cute.”

“Shut up.”

*

“Okay,” Grantaire says, moving around Enjolras to his front. “Now you lead, I’ll follow.”

Enjolras takes his waist and hand, carefully, ever the gentlemen, and they waltz.

“You’re a great teacher, you know.”

“I’m alright.”

“No, you’re great. I bet the kids love you.”

Grantaire just blushes, and watches Enjolras watch their feet.

“Hey, look up, remember.”

“Sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

Enjolras sways close to him, and his eyes are so very blue, and they kiss, slow and sweet. Grantaire licks into Enjolras’ mouth and taste the sharp sweat they’ve worked up, and he makes an  
embarrassing noise.

“Did you just purr?” Enjolras asks against his mouth.

“Shut up.”

“Come with me.”

“I was planning on it.”

“No, to the party. Come with me.”

“Are you serious?”

“Yes. Will you?”

“Of course. I’d follow you into the jaws of hell. You’re mother’s clutches are only slightly worse.”

“Shut up and kiss me.”

“You lead.”

“You follow.”


End file.
